Ignoramasaurus

[Note: this story grew out of an attempt to write a poem for my 31 Days of Poetry. One minute it was a poem, the next minute she's fixing her hair and straightening her clothes. Not sure how that happened! The story contains more graphic and "rough" language than I've used previously, but I think contextually it will make sense. Enjoy!]







"Quickly!" She said, turning sharply on her leather-strap stiletto heels without looking to see if I followed, and click-clacking across the marble floor. 


Did I follow?  What am I, an ignoramasaurus? 'Course I followed. If you'd seen that broad, you'd follow too.  


She moved real quick, but I don't know how that dame did it, wearin' a buttoned-up dark suit with a skin-tight skirt to her knees that hugged her curves like a jockey riding the rail around the quarter-pole at Aqueduct. Her gams were sweet; she had these old-fashioned stockings like you see in Burlesque with the black seam running up the back of 'em. The seam on the left leg was crooked, which I remember because I was starin' at her gams, trying to burn the image into my memory. 


Her hips quit rumbling in that skirt and it took me a second to realize the dame had stopped. She was looking back at me, and I swear on my St. Anthony medal her eyes were violet. I know about the different shades of colors because I had to help my sister once on a project for her beauty college. It was about nail polish, and I don't know why Jeanie bothered, the girl has no artistic sense. 


But that's how I learned about violet, and this chick has violet eyes. Maybe their contacts, or something. Or maybe it was the weird light in the rotunda, at night and all, and no light 'cept coming in from windows up by the arched ceiling. 


Her hair is all full and wavy, like some girl in a shampoo commercial. It's dark red, I think, or maybe not; I don't know, the shadows have me jumpy. 


The doll puts her finger up to big, soft full lips - telling me to keep quiet, as if I didn't know that. 


Madon, but I wanna kiss those lips. 


Bitch would probably shoot me if I tried. 


She could. I know she has a gun, though the devil knows where she could be hiding it in that outfit. 


She leans over to whisper in my ear, putting a hand on my shoulder to keep balance. One of her finger-nails (French tips; I swear I learned more from that project than my sister ever did) scratches my neck. It hurts. I almost yell out. I wish she'd do it again. 


Her mouth is so close to my ear that I can feel the heat of her breath and the faint vibration in her throat. Her shampoo commercial hair falls on my shoulder and brushes my neck. It doesn't hurt like the nail, but makes me want to shout even more. I wanna turn and kiss this broad, bite those soft full lips, so much that my balls are achin'.


But I don't. 


The job.  Gotta focus on the job.  


Also, the bitch scares me a little. 


When she finally gives me the message it ain't what I thought it would be at all.  She has to lean in - even in those stiletto heels I'm six inches taller - and her leanin' causes her chest to push up against mine. 


I feel the full pressure of her tits - nice and firm, but soft and yielding, too.  They're bigger than I thought from lookin' at her - she must have 'em spring-loaded in that jacket and blouse. 


She says to me, "Get down on your knees."  


Wait, WHAT? Crazy dame's supposed to tell me what direction the Senator will come from and how many body guards; I gotta know the lay of the land so I can do my thing. I'm so confused that I think maybe we have to hide from spotters or something, but then why is she making no move to get down?


She says it again, she hisses it: "Down on your knees!" and she bites fucking my earlobe. Hard!


I don't care who the bitch works for, my instinct is to give her the back of my hand, and then maybe the front. Nobody does that to me!


Instead, I find myself sinking down to the floor.  What the fuck am I doing? I don't go down on pussy: pussy goes down on me!


But I'm kneeling in front of her, and those gorgeous legs are sticking out of that tight skirt, and then I smell her. Oh, God!  the bitch is wet!


Without even really thinking about it, I push the skirt up over her hips. The skirt is tight and her ass is like a thoroughbred - muscles and movement, beautiful lines - it keeps the skirt bunched up around her waist. 


Her stockings are attached to a black garter belt over-top of black panties that even in the gloom I can see - let alone smell - are wet. 


I can't help myself. I lean forward, and at the same time grab two handfuls of ass and pull her to me. And then my tongue is pressed hard and flat against her panties, right in the crotch on the wet spot, against those big sweet lips, which I can feel quivering on the other side the thin black lace. 


I just hold my tongue there. I wasn't kidding before. In my world, Men don't put the pink taco in their mouth. It's just not done. I seen it on the pornos, but it's like watching some movie about a contract-killer - it don't mean that you suddenly know where to make the right cuts to get a body stuffed in a suitcase. 


Dame laces her fingers in my hair and pulls tight. Message is clear: Quit fuckin' around and get to work! I know this because it's the same move I made many a time when some moll wanted to screw around and play lollipop when I ordered a vacuum cleaner. 


I guess I'm supposed to start licking.  My tongue starts lapping against that same spot on her crotch; lapping like a dog.  Great.  I'm reduced to whore. If she calls me her bitch I swear I'll cut her open from lips to lips and I don't care if it means open warfare among the clans. 


Ah, who the fuck am I kidding?  She could bend me over her knee, spank my ass red and make me call her Mommy and I'd do it if it meant I could keep licking this pussy.  Madon, what has happened to me?


And more importantly, where has this been all my life?


I start to suck on the panties, like you would a cold rag you put in your mouth to stop the swelling on a busted lip. Trying to get all that nectar.  It pushes the panties a little bit to the side and my nose bumps against skin. Swollen lips.  I'm in heaven. I try to do it again, but the damn garter belt is in the way. 


The broad hasn't made a move to take the garters off. I guess if you may have to run at a moment's notice you don't want your skivvies floppin' around your ankles. 


I gotta get in there, though, or I'm gonna fucking scream, and I know that would probably get us both killed. More importantly, I'd have to stop licking!


My switch blade!


I fish it out of my pocket and flick it open, the small click heavy in the silence. I don't bother asking for approval - can't see this dame  going for a knife near the ol' schliz. I yank the crotch of the panties as far from her box as I can for safety (I'm a gentleman that way), then one quick little cut and the panties are open. 


Victory is mine! Pussy so fine!  (Okay, don't tell anyone I said that, or I'll kill you, your family, and people in your neighborhood with the same color house. I cannot let word get out that Pussy sublime is making me rhyme. Fuck! I did it again!)


Whether she fully comprehends what just happened or not, the bitch catches on to the ramifications quick, and she pulls my mouth cunt-ward. Without even meaning to my tongue slips inside her and....


Fuck, Yeah, Baby!  That's what I'm talkin' 'bout!


I thrust my tongue in and out of that sweet hole. I press my tongue against those inner walls (so THAT'S what Prince was yammerin' about!), and I lap up every bit of juice that I can.  It runs down my chin and onto the marble floor. I swear to Christ - you can call me a cooze-fag if you want, but if she wasn't looking I would lick the floor clean.  That's how bad I want it. 


Her knees and hips buckle and thrust at the same time, which has the effect of moving my mouth up slightly on her body. I'm right at the top of her pussy, and I feel this tiny little soft pea-shaped thing in my mouth. 


This has gotta be the clit.  I'd heard about it once; those nags on that Sex in the City were talking about it, and I know what you're thinking, but you can go fuck yourself. I would never watch that shit on my own. My bitch at the time insisted I let her watch it, or she'd pout and whine.  You do what you gotta do. 


The lady likes it. She starts bucking her hips as soon as her clit is in my mouth, as if I was ridin' her like a bull and she was trying to toss me off her back. I suck on that clit, but gently - I remember the horse-faced one on the show saying the clit is all sensitive, and I figure chicks like that shit. 


After that goes well for awhile, I hold her clit lightly in my teeth and flick my tongue back and forth against it in rapid succession.  


The woman just loses it.  She goes into full-on thrash mode, like Julius Caesar at an XTC Rave-level thrash. ('Cuz see, Caesar had epilepsy, and seeing flashing strobe lights can make an epileptic have a seizure, and raves always have.....ah forget it. You don't care about my clever analogy. You only care about the chick having the orgasm.  Can't say as I blame you.)


Babydoll is coming and coming and coming and coming. Juice is going everywhere.  My face and neck are so sticky I feel like when Winnie the Pooh finally got to that honey pot. (I an't blaming my knowledge of Pooh on some dumb ho; I loved that bouncy tiger since I first saw him as a kid. Tigger for Life!)


I gotta admit it: I loved every second of eating this angel's honey. I swear it was so hot I almost came myself. I'd made girls come before - or at least, they said I did - but it was nothing like that. 


Her legs are soaked. Nylons can take a lot of abuse, but damn, they are messed up, man. Helpfully, I pull a (mostly clean) handkerchief out of my pocket and try to wipe up as much juice as I can off her legs and  inner thighs.  It takes every last fucking ounce of energy I have not to suck on that handkerchief like I did her panties.  


She pushes her skirt back down over her hips - I have to stifle a whimper - and other than her scent still pounding my nostrils and a slight flush on her neck she looks completely composed. She even fixed her hair in just a few seconds, and it had gotten all thrashed when she was in thrall. 


I stand up, none too steady on my legs, unsure what to do.  She's all business again.  


"He'll come through the rotunda from the East corridor. He should have three guards with him, in front and back and at his side - and he may or may not have an aide with him."


She narrowed her eyes and fixed me with a stare, her fierce gaze driving home her point., "The guards are fair targets, part of the business, but the aide is a civilian and it would look bad if she was collateral damage."


I didn't say anything back. I just stood there, staring into those violet eyes, and thinking about everything I was going to do the next time she let me go down there. 


She snapped me out of my reverie by grabbing my chin in her hand and digging her nails in painfully.  


"Are you listening to me, you fucking cunt licker?  We're paying you good money, so you better not fuck this up!" Do you hear me?" 


"Yes, ma'am."
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